The Dursley's Troubled Life
by SneverusSnapers
Summary: The Dursley's have always been rather unfortunate. It all started when a boy with bad eyesight was dumped on their doorstep. All things go smoothly until Harry reaches 11... What are their reactions when strange and mysterious things start happening?
1. Chapter One: Harry and The Voice

Long story short, it's another time when I've been bored, I've written something, and I've decided to let other people read and suffer from it. Hope you enjoy, at least this is a little (notice: _a little_) less ridiculous than some of the others… (especially the song with Lara and the Gorilla…) I can put up more chapters if people actually like this. Now, go read!

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, I'm sure there would have been more random exclamations of things like: "Professor SNAAAAPE!" So, no, I don't. I can if you want though. I'm sure the world would be a much better place if my friend and I ruled it. School for instance, well, who really needs it? :p

**The Dursley's Troubled Life**

Chapter One:

Mr Dursley had never been very fond of cabbage.

Which was why he stared rather stonily down at the bowl placed promptly in front of him by his somewhat scrawny wife, Petunia. The pale green lumps swimming in a murky liquid didn't look very appealing to the eye, even when Mr Dursley had an empty stomach.

"_Why _are you scowling Vernon?" His wife said haughtily. Mr Dursley knew not to retaliate to such a comment with the truth. Informing his wife of not liking cabbage was a crime he dared not think about when she was in such close proximity to cooking implements. Vaguely, his mind wandered back to the time when he'd stated that Petunia's string beans were too _stringy _(ironic though the situation was). The following conversation on Petunia's part had been mainly physical (and painful to Mr Dursley seeing as Petunia had been armed with a spatula).

In light of this memory, Mr Dursley decided to use his most common excuse for being disgruntled, instead of the explicit truth.

"It's that _boy_." He grumbled disgust lacing his tone, as he slowly dipped his spoon into the sloppy green liquid. It wasn't entirely a lie. Harry was always a thorn in his conscience. The irritating child had been acting rather oddly of late and once again Mr Dursley found himself muttering about the sheer incompetence of the child, not the mention the burden he was. Petunia seemed to have accepted the child without full knowledge of how plain _inconvenient _it was.

His own son - the strongly built, well fed, and highly popular Dudley Dursley - also shared the same dislike for the scraggy, dark-haired boy. Not to mention the fact that with two children in the household, it was unlikely that Petunia would be willing to have a Bernard Dursley, or Patricia Dursley - either of which, would have been far more welcomed than _Harry_.

Or, as Mr Dursley commonly referred to him: _that boy_.

"What about him?" Petunia muttered, clearly in an irritated mood.

"He makes too much noise, and I have a headache." He replied, trying (unsuccessfully) to hide his dislike of the meal from his expression. This was not however, strictly speaking, true. The boy made considerably less noise then his own son, Dudley. Though naturally, being Dudley had it's privileges.

"Has he been fed yet?" Asked his wife with a nonchalant air, now referring to the boy as little less than dirt, which, incidentally - thought Mr Dursley - was exactly what he was.

"I'll do it," He said gruffly, pulling back his chair so he could find the boy and grabbing his own bowl of soup (he didn't feel like finishing it. He could always rifle through the fridge later if his hunger had not abated.) Petunia didn't say anything as he left the dining room; instead she picked up the remote for Dudley's brand new TV, now situated in the kitchen.

Mr Dursley had just got to the cupboard under the stairs when he heard Harry. A series of mutters was coming through the cupboard door. Instead of shouting at him, this time, Mr Dursley decided to listen.

"_I don't really know what you're talking about. I don't think you've got the right person." _

Mr Dursley frowned. The boy sounded as if he was _talking _to someone. Though he knew very well the only other inhabitant in the cramped space was a colony of small spiders. Perhaps the boy was going mad, he'd suspected as much. Mr Dursley was just about to leave the soup on the floor and walk back to the dining room, when he heard the boy speak again, his voice faster now.

"_I can't explain really sir-" _The use of the word 'sir' made Mr Dursley feel uneasy; who an earth was the boy talking to? "_It just _happens _sometimes_. _Like the other day, Dudley and his gang tried to tie me_-"

The mention of his son had Mr Dursley suddenly irate, how dare the boy speak to someone about his son in such secrecy. In one (surprisingly agile movement for such a broad man) Mr Dursley swung open the door to find… Harry. Sitting there, and staring wide eyes up at him. He pushed him to the side, squinting into the tiny space, and meticulously checking (by means of waving his arms around) if anyone beside Harry was in there.

"Who were you talking to, boy?" Barked Mr Dursley, after he'd made sure no one else was around. Harry looked slightly frightened; he'd shrunk into the corner to avoid Mr Dursley's wild swings.

Harry didn't reply at first. His eyes darted wildly from Mr Dursley's florid face, to the ceiling, and then out the open cupboard door. Finally, he let out:

"I-I wasn't speaking to anyone!" _This_, (the whole stuttering and speaking with too high a pitch) instantly made Mr Dursley suspicious.

"Don't _lie_ to me boy!" Roared Mr Dursley, grabbing Harry roughly by his hair and wrenching him out of the cupboard to inspect whether an impostor was still lurking in the shadows.

A dull slopping sound quickly followed by a sharp clatter informed him that the cabbage soup was now only edible to the carpet.

"I heard you talking," He whispered menacingly. "Who was it and where are they?"

Harry didn't even have a chance to reply, he was cut short by his Aunt Petunia.

Who had just let out a scream of horror.

***

Ohhh, the suspense... *snort*

I still love that first line. Vernon and I both share a mutual dislike of a certain green vegetable. Oh, and Bernard Dursley? Ha. Don't ask. It involves the other Sneverus (yeah - there are two of us. Oh, and maybe another if you count siblings) and I playing on Sims2 and having MY darling sister (nicknamed: the pig) ask where Bernard was. This resulted in confusion, as far as we knew about Harry Potter (which… well, is rather a lot) there was no 'Bernard' …

It turns out that the pig was merely asking where Vernon was (he was eating) but she forgot his name. For some reason, I have absolutely _no idea_ why, we found this hilarious. And thus, if Aunt Petunia ever had a baby, it would have been called Bernard. (Sorry for the random babbling…that probably didn't make sense :p)

Please review! ;)

Sincerely,

~Sneverus


	2. Chapter Two: Petunia and Her Visitor

Here's chapter two, thanks for the great feedback on the first chapter.

(My sister has just come into the room, thoroughly upset because she seems to have misplaced her digestive biscuit. The ignorant girl is actually proposing that _I _stole it! - I admit, if I'd been aware our house actually HAD biscuits of some kind I would have been on them in an instant. My mother has decided a healthy house is happy one - how very mistaken she is. :p)

*And please not that Mrs Figg's three legged cat that was mentioned is actually representative of Mogger, the three legged, half a tailed cat, that recently passed away.*

Disclaimer: Nope. I didn't gain the ownership to Harry Potter over night - no idea why. Perhaps fate doesn't like me. I still stand that my friend and I should have at least some credit over the masterpiece. (Specifically Professor SNAAAPE!)

**The Dursley's Troubled Life**

Chapter Two:

Mrs Dursley had been having a bad day.

Perhaps it had been Mrs Figg's unusually large tomatoes that had been the start of it. Just this morning, when she'd passed Mrs Figg's habitually deplorable garden, she had spotted the ripe, bulging red fruits that outshone her collection by miles. Jealously had sparked instantly. Petunia had always prided herself on her tomatoes, 'the best in the area' - some said. And now, _Mrs Figg _- an old woman only really competent at babysitting Harry and petting her bizarrely large collection of cats (one of which she was _sure _had only had three legs) - had grown better ones.

The world was simply not _just _any more.

But it didn't stop there, that was only the _first _thing that had gone awry today. Shortly after the incident with the tomatoes, Mrs Dursley had found Harry _not _playing nicely with her Dear Dudders. There they'd been, Dudders and his friends sitting quite amiably on the wall and Harry (the little runt of a boy) was saying "I hate playing with you!"

Such manners, thought Petunia Dursley, were simply not acceptable from the boy. With a quick apology to Dudley and his friends, she had needed to pull Harry into the house by the ear, and promptly send him off to do chores as punishment. Cookies were later needed to placate Dudders, from what he had called 'A traumatic experience' involving a large dog that ate his ice-cream.

Later that day, her Dear Dudders had come back home, her sharp eyes (well trained at noticing things a far from craning to look into neighbour's gardens) had spotted him instantly through the kitchen window, and he'd been sprouting a large purple bruise on his right cheek.

Mrs Dursley had let out a wail of shock at this, instantly cooing her poor son. When Dudley had finally calmed down enough to eat some triple chocolate ice-cream (Petunia new such food was needed when one was distraught - and she'd never been one to deprive her growing boy) she had asked: "What happened Diddy Dudders Darling?" he had merely grunted and said that 'he didn't want to talk about it.'

Petunia Dursley had spent the rest of that afternoon trying to get some information out of Dudley, but he'd remained silent. Until Harry entered the kitchen, carrying the washing from upstairs. Dudley had scowled at the boy, and instantly Petunia's suspicions at who could have caused her son's discomfort rose.

"Harry!" She called to him in a shrill voice. He looked vaguely bored as he turned to her, though she couldn't see his expression full save his eyes (the rest was hidden behind what looked like Vernon's underwear) "_What _have you done to Dudley?"

Harry ignored her for a moment, stopping to place the dirty washing next to the machine before saying:

"I didn't do anything." He proceeded with a plethora of excuses, each implying that he _couldn't _have hurt Dudley when he'd been cleaning out the bathrooms and doing the washing.

"L-l-_liar_!" Dudley had wailed from the sofa, "H-he's _lying _again mummy!" Dudley had promptly burst into a bout of hysterical wails looking appropriately like a round bawling pig with blonde hair. Petunia saw Harry eyeing him with a mixture of ire and disgust laced on his features. She highly disapproved of him. _He's just jealous of Dear Dudders, that's probably why he's hurt him. My poor Duddy-kins' good looks and fine build must have set the jealously in him off._

"What have I told you about lying, boy?!" Roared Vernon Dursley from the sofa, bent double in an attempt to pacify Dudley and seemingly torn between both calming his son and throttling the troublesome Harry. Petunia couldn't help but admire her husband at times like these; here was the fine strong man she'd married so many years ago.

"I wasn't lying!" Harry had shouted back indignantly, flushing slightly in vexation and ruining Petunia's brief memory of the past.

"Out of this room! _Out_!" Roared Vernon again, Harry had walked out; shoulders slumped and had retreated back to his cupboard under the stairs. The whole experience had been far too loud for Petunia's taste. She continually muttered to her husband about how obstreperous the unworthy child was becoming.

And now, she stood in the kitchen quite alone, her lips pursed as she idly washed up the uneaten cabbage soup (she'd have to have a word with Vernon about that later) she recollected the hectic events of the day. Deciding that each of them were adding up to a sign of portent.

This errant thought shocked Petunia. She'd never been the superstitious sort. Not until her sister's lot had started making an appearance in her life. The very thought of _their _lot sent multiple shivers down Petunia's spine. It didn't help that the boy was a constant reminder of them all. Especially with his recent tendencies to do… strange things. That and his ugly scar, forever embedded on his pallid forehead.

It was while she was mulling this all over, still laboriously scrubbing the dirt off numerous plates and contemplating how to dispose of the remnants if the cabbage soup - when it happened.

An almighty crack from behind made her spin on her heels, drop the bowl of soup into the washing up bowl, and scream. Her heart pounding tenfold, she waited (none too calmly) for the vat of lilac smoke to vanish. A nasty wave of reminiscence was washing over her - it was an unsettling feeling. Her fingernails danced a juddering staccato rhythm against the counter.

When the eerie billowing smoke finally dispersed, Petunia let out another terrible scream.

Because before her was the man she'd sworn to forget.

***

**Vernon Dursley's POV:**

Mr Dursley heard Petunia scream again.

"Uncle Vernon, I think Aunt Petunia needs help," Harry said after his Uncle's utter stillness and resolute staring had made him uncomfortable. Mr Dursley became steadily more angry at the boy's innocently helpful tone.

"I _realise _that." Mr Dursley replied through gritted teeth, still keeping a strong hold on the boy's thin arm, torn between a desire to interrogate him further and run to see what Petunia was making such a fuss about.

"Then why aren't you assisting her?" Harry asked in puzzled tone, with just a trace of derision. Mr Dursley scowled down at him.

"Do I look _thick _boy?" Snarled Mr Dursley, his normally protuberant eyes practically budging in his now scarlet face. "I know ruddy well that you were talking with someone in there, don't try to change the subject." The kitchen was sounding ominously quiet; he paused slightly before deciding his course of action. "We'll settle this in a minute." With that, Mr Dursley stomped from the room, leaving a very confused Harry massaging his arm in the hallway.

Mr Dursley's headache had definitely taken a turn for the worse. He barged into the kitchen, finding his wife, white faced, and staring fixedly at a point beyond his shoulder.

"H-he's _here _Vernon," She whispered thickly in a quivering voice. Mr Dursley was left baffled.

"Who's here Petunia?" He asked, trying to soften his voice down to what he hoped would be a soothing tone. He didn't succeed; his anger at the boy had not yet abated. (And with a low grumble from his sizeable stomach, clearly, his hunger hadn't either.)

Petunia Dursley didn't answer at first. She appeared to be lost in frenzied thought as her eyes continually flickered to the point beyond Mr Dursley's shoulder. He let out a low grunt, turning to see what she was staring at. Though all _he _could see was the archway separating the kitchen and dining room from the hallway.

Petunia didn't seem like she was capable at framing a coherent sentence by this point. Mr Dursley tried once more at his soothing tone, gruffly throwing an arm around his wife's shoulders, and leading her carefully towards a chair. "Now, now Petunia dear. I'm sure it's nothing to worry about, probably just a trick of the light, eh?"

"V-Vernon," She whispered again, "_he _was here… he wants the boy…"

"_Who _was here Petunia?" Mr Dursley bit back the irritation that he was feeling.

"That… _Bumblebore_…"

Mr Dursley's blood ran cold.

***

As of yet we still don't know who was lurking in Harry's cupboard, eh? There will be more Harry involvement as this story develops. Though I have to admit I get a slightly odd satisfaction when writing the Dursley's. I think it might be all the pointless grumbling.

Yeah. Not dear Dumby. (I dressed up as that fellow when seeing the film) It's _Bumblebore_… (Ah ha, the mystery continues) all shall be explained next chapter. :p Thanks for the brilliant review response on the first chapter. If the same thing happens again the next chapter can be out twice as fast! Any questions; queries; pedantic grammar pickers; praise or constructive criticism is welcomed. Feedback would be brilliant!

Please review! ;)

Sincerely,

~Sneverus


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